


A Test, a Miracle, a Curse

by sahiya



Category: Chalion Saga - Bujold
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Gen, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Umegat dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Test, a Miracle, a Curse

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [2008 Bujold Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/bujold_fic/88536.html) prompt "Umegat and the Bastard after the events of Chalion."

For Umegat, the first year of Royina Iselle's reign was a year without words.

Oh, he spoke often enough - spoke and listened both. But words in their most beloved form - the written word, the printed word - were lost to him for the whole of that year. They fled his fingers, skittered from his eyes; somewhere, between the page and his mind, they lost themselves, vanishing like a sundered soul into something gray and vague that he could not grasp.

He wept and railed at first. "Punished," he moaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his useless eyes. "I am punished." Daris mouthed frantic negations at him, but Umegat was certain of it all the same. What else could this be? Why else would his god have taken his greatest comfort, his refuge, his sanctuary, from him? To lose the second sight was difficult, but he had borne that before and could bear it again; but to lose his _words_ . . .

He fought daily to win them back. Every stroke with a quill was a battle, every word he put back in his head that fell out again a defeat. The ones that stayed, few though they were, were small, syllabic victories. He clutched at them and wrote them again and again, afraid they might be ripped from him if he did not.

So he struggled - until one day he realized that his yearning for words had filled his soul. It was brimming with such longing, such _will_, so that there was no room for his god. His cup was full.

Umegat lay his quill aside, then, and his parchment. He considered for the first time that he might not be punished. His god had never discussed His plans with Umegat before, after all. It was not the first time matters had not been to Umegat's liking. Perhaps this was nothing more than a test. The greatest test of his will he had ever known, to be sure. But great tests from his god, Umegat had realized over the years, were often accompanied by great gifts. Miracles, even.

Umegat lay back, closed his eyes, and offered himself up to his god once more.

That night, the anniversary of Royina Iselle's coronation, while all of Cardegoss took to the streets in revelry, Umegat slept deeply and dreamt. He dreamt of a coastal city he'd never seen before - Ibra, from the writing, which he could read as fluently as ever he had in his life - and a beach where clear gray water lapped at the shore. He stood barefoot on cool sand, his toes curling into grainy dampness, and watched a man in white approach. Umegat's breath caught.

It was not the first time the Bastard had taken the form of Umegat's lover who had died a martyr in the Archipelago. He had come to him this way for the first time, more than forty years ago now, and a handful of times since, each preserved in Umegat's mind like a leaf pressed between the pages of a book.

"My Umegat," the Bastard said, caught his hands, and kissed him. Umegat felt his breath catch in his throat. "I have missed you."

"Please forgive me, my Lord," Umegat said, falling to his knees. "I thought I was punished - I thought -"

"Never," the Bastard said. "You did well, so very well. But even the gods cannot change the angle of a blow to the head. The boy had such iron will - I had no way in."

"My words are gone," Umegat said, looking up at him. "How may I serve you if I can't read?"

"Many ways. Stand up, please, I'm getting a crick in my celestial neck." The Bastard barked a laugh and tugged Umegat to his feet. He grasped Umegat by the arms; Umegat looked into that beloved face, as young now as it had been thirty years ago. If his lover had lived he would be nearly seventy now, an old man. "Many ways," the Bastard repeated. "And yet . . . I could not do this while you fought so hard. But now . . ." He lay one hand on Umegat's forehead, just above his eyes, and the other at his right temple.

Umegat felt warmth flood him, a faint buzzing in his ears, and then it was gone. He blinked, frowning, until the smiling face of his god swam into focus. "Am I - am I cured?"

"When you wake, you will find that your words have returned to you. There is much work ahead, my Umegat, and though you may serve me without them better than you think, you may serve me best of all with them."

Umegat bowed. "Thank you," he said, breathless with gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord." He straightened. "This work -"

"Oh, come now, Umegat. If I told you that, it wouldn't be any fun at all." The Bastard laughed and turned. His chuckle drifted back to Umegat on the salty sea breeze. He left no footprints in the sand. "An open mind, dear servant," Umegat heard Him call over His shoulder. "An open mind . . ."

Umegat woke to bright morning light, a quiet city, and a messenger from the Zangre. The first thing he read with his restored eyes was the scroll the man bore from Lord Chancellor dy Cazaril.

The Fox of Ibra had died. Royina Iselle and Royse Bergon would depart for Ibra in two days' time for Bergon's coronation, and the Chancellor requested Umegat's presence in the convoy.

_I think you may have dreamt last night_, Cazaril had added in his own uneven hand, below the perfectly formed letters of the official missive. _I did as well. Interesting times lie ahead, my friend._

Umegat had heard a curse once - something about interesting times and important people. And perhaps it _was_ a curse - but on this sunny morning, reading Cazaril's words over and over until he knew them by heart, it seemed the greatest blessing he'd ever known.

_Fin._


End file.
